


Aube

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-09
Updated: 2003-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies! Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aube

**Author's Note:**

> Written for glitzfrau

 

 

Gazing outdoors at the large forests and meadows passing by my window, I fingered the rough material of the curtains in my hands as the carriage sped ever faster.With the last vestiges of Lowood still lingering in my mind, unpalatable food and shame, I made up my mind to approach the future growing ever closer with steadfast resilience. The carriage was comfortable, if not especially handsome, and I quickly found myself fading in and out of sleep. At one moment I found myself drifting off into sleep with a dark, velvety sky overhead and awoke to find a pink dawn creeping up in my stead. The driver was quiet and left me to converse with myself in peace, and I soon found myself recalling a bizarre collage of memories. 

In my mind, the paper-thin carriage curtains turned into the thick red velvet ones of Gateshead Hall--how many times had I clutched those folds in protection, how many times had I used their heavy blanket to read and escape? I imagined John had torn them down in a fit of rage, perhaps after realizing I was no longer around to bully, and perhaps they were bunched up in a trunk at the foot of someone's trunk, or perhaps they had merely gone in with the trash and eventually made it into some woman's bodice. 

In my mind, the over-floured and under-watered foods of Lowood drifted into a glutinous, grey mess; I could still picture skinny, underfed girls congregating around scratched tables in silent submission. I found myself sitting up straighter in the carriage, stomach threatening to growl. The thin black linens adorning rows of schoolgirls melted into the countryside outside my ride, grey buttons fading away into bright poppies, jubilant gardens replacing simple frocks. Watching the blossoms unfolding into the dawn, petals unfurling blue, pink, crimson into the golden sky, I closed my eyes once more and drifted off into reverie.   
 

* * *

  


"Hush," she admonished in the darkening room, as the daylight faded with the rules. The first thing, the first thing of all: it was the hair, my hair, she ran her hands through it like water. Eyes darting around nervously, taking in the shadows and dust and cobwebs, she caught my hand like a bird in a net and led me through the hallways. Every step the floorboards creaked under our bare feet, splinters embedding themselves in my feet as I tiptoed behind her to the empty classroom at the end of the hallway on our right.   
 

* * *

  


Stirring abruptly from my slumber, I took in my surroundings and established I was indeed still riding in the carriage. Judging by the sun, what surely felt like a ride of at least three hours had been a mere half hour. Despite the soft cushion of the seat, my neck was growing stiff and I felt as though I would never fully bend my knees again. I was developing a headache from the constant rumble of the carriage over the roads, sometimes paved, and propped my head on my hand to steady myself. 

Outside, though the sky was growing a warmer hue, the mist still clouded around the carriage giving an eerie look about the whole of the meadows surrounding us. Drawing my arms around myself to stir warmth back into my bones, I found myself weary again and melancholy. On the carriage rolled, over the stones and into the distance...   
 

* * *

  


"Hush," she whispered as I coughed at the dust spilling in my lungs, pouring out from in between the pages of the Bibles. "They'll hear you if you continue that noise, Jane, don't be foolish." Her words caught on my skin as she pulled me towards her, scoldings and wisdoms melting smoothly into elbows and angles. Pulling, teasing, twirling, feeling, we ran our hands over skin like aged maps, mapping new continents and conquering secret lands. The air was still but for our breathing, heavy and thick, and I could see the dust particles swirling before, weaving in and out and all around.   
 

* * *

  


It was pleasant now, being on one's own. I was in control of myself; I could come and go as I pleased, with no ties or connections. I was a grown woman and currently in possession of a future; I had defied all expectations and amounted to something. Steadily, slowly the mist began to subside from the wheels beneath, and I stared up numbly as the clouds made streaks across sunrise.   
 

* * *

  


"Quiet, Jane--" she called out as we ran out into the air, the cold and frozen air, feeling the wind rise up under our skirts and feet, pulling us up into the air above the clouds and away, away. We ran free as woodland creatures, spinning around tree trunks and dodging old roots, settling by the burgeoning crocuses and searching through the treetops for emerging stars. "Jane, you mustn't be loud or it'll all be over," came the words soft in my ear.   
 

* * *

  


Years later, I would remark on the fact my early life seemed outlined by carriage rides: from Gateshead Hall to Lowood, from Lowood to Thornfield, exits, entrances, departures, homecomings, always coming, always leaving, never staying, never settling down, cutting strings and sprouting wings. Perhaps it had been beaten out of me, a need for commitment, maybe I knew better than to tie myself to people, maybe I raised my standards, maybe I just allowed myself to be carried along by others with no regard for my surroundings. I could no longer remember my past. Sitting by the fire with my husband over my shoulders and my son in my lap, and Adele in the next room and St. John above our heads, it seems as though I had never known loneliness. Who was to say I had? I could no longer remember, nor did I wish to. The present; it was all I aspired to recall.   
 

* * *

  


"Careful," she cried as we fell to the grass, new spring buds blossoming around and within us. I stifled her cries with a hand, and then a mouth, and then the world grew pungent and heady and spun before me like a wild carriage ride. With a loud rushing in my ears, I traced my fingertips up past her thighs, my tongue outlining her curves and angles, the glorious fan of her hair entwining itself around my hands and catching on my lips. "This can't last, Jane, we must treasure it as we have it; soon this will all dissolve away into nothing as snow on our tongues. It is a fleeting fancy, and it will fade away, Jane, it will fade."   
 

* * *

  


It will fade away, Jane, it will fade away into nothing. 

 


End file.
